


Not Waving but Drowning

by uncorrectgrammar



Category: Batman - All Media Types, Teen Titans (Animated Series)
Genre: Canonical Character Death, Gen, I don't care that the cartoon ended years ago, Jason Todd is Red X, Lazarus Pit, and canonical character resurrection, in this house we talk about the effect of dying and coming back to life, you can pry my Red X headcanon out of my cold dead hands
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-05
Updated: 2020-04-05
Packaged: 2021-02-28 20:27:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,304
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23493190
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/uncorrectgrammar/pseuds/uncorrectgrammar
Summary: Jason Todd was drowning.
Relationships: Dick Grayson & Jason Todd, Koriand'r/Jason Todd
Comments: 5
Kudos: 92





	Not Waving but Drowning

_Nobody heard him, the dead man,_

_But still he lay moaning:_

_I was much further out than you thought_

_And not waving but drowning._

_― Stevie Smith_

* * *

Jason Todd was drowning.

It wasn't an unfamiliar feeling. Even now, days and months and years later, he could still remember what it felt like to have water fill his lungs, to gasp with his head in and out of the water, to cough and claw and fight and _lose_ , his vision flickering on and off, seeing shadows dancing in the green underwater light.

Once, when he had been younger and more naïve, he thought drowning was like falling asleep, easy and simple, nothing more than lying down in a bed made of water. He knew better now. It _hurt_ and it went on forever, this helpless, breathless feeling, no air, no anchor, just the liquid fire against his skin, just the heavy weight pushing his chest down down down —

He tried to fight it now. Like before. Like he used to.

Back then — were those the right words to use? _Back then_ implied it happened only once, but that wasn't right. It happened so often in his dreams, again and again, over and over, those bright green waters, and he was flailing, thrashing, falling —

Back then, there was only the water, filling a still, endless lake.

He had been in pain then, because the waters were too green, too bright, too much. They stung and prickled him like fire, burning him from the inside out, the choking flames creeping up and flooding his mouth and nose and lungs, scratching at his throat until all he could do was scream.

But now, it was different. He thought he had struggled then, thought he had fought with everything he had, but now it wasn't just the water that was pushing down, rushing in, surrounding him. Now, he felt cold, slimy hands closing around his wrist and ankles. He clawed at these strangers' hold, all hands and locking arms, icy and slick and relentless. _I don't want to die_ , he thought desperately, trying to slip away, tossing and squirming and fighting and —

Rotten teeth biting into his flesh, gnarled nails scratching at his eyes, long fingers gouging, twisting, pulling and —

Clouds of red rising from the cuts on his arm and leg and chest, the waters saturating him everywhere at once, his mouth, his lungs, his eyes, his ears, every inch of skin, smothered and chilled and drowning and —

_Stop._

He was so tired. Tired of fighting, tired of struggling. He wanted to, but try as he might, it felt near impossible. Everything felt too heavy, his lips and eyes and limbs weighed down with freezing water and the blood from his wounds.

In his mind's eye, an image rose, unbidden. A tall pale man, at the edge of a boat, an oar in hand.

 _The ferryman_ , he knew. The ferryman was watching. Waiting.

 _No more fighting_.

He wanted to stop . . . to simply sleep. . . . He had been fighting for so long, since his father raised his hand and his mother turned the other cheek and everything he knew and had and believed collapsed around him.

What was the point, in fighting still? He had died already, had already tasted blood and metal and death on his tongue. His body had once been buried and left to rot, and gone was its warmth. Now he felt hollow, trapped in an empty shell, too many regrets for too short a life.

_No more . . . too tired . . . stop . . . to die, to sleep. . . ._

He stopped.

He stopped and —

Oh.

Red and green. Colors of life. Iron and salt. A boat and a ferryman, rowing across a lake —

No, not a lake. A river. Styx.

_Familiar._

The water was empty now, still and pleasantly quiet. No bodies, no teeth, no nails. Not because he was safe, but because he was at the end of it, the bottom of the water, where everything was clear and cool and green. He was floating — weightless, light, _free_ , finally deaf to his screaming, deaf to the cackling of a madman, deaf to the shattering of his mind.

* * *

There was an odd glow at the edge of consciousness. Something about it was familiar, like a faraway memory, half-forgotten.

A strange light.

Fire. Red. Warm. Bright. Shining.

A hand.

Holding.

Pulling.

Warm warm warm —

 _Shine out, fair sun, till I have bought a glass, that I may see my shadow as I pass_ —

A dull ringing, a voice like golden wind chimes. A faint lull, whispering.

"You are safe," it seemed to say. "You are all right." But he didn't understand, how it could be so clear when there was water filling up his ears.

Safe.

Warm.

Sleep.

* * *

"Can't we just peek? Just one teensy little peek?"

"No."

"Aww, c'mon! No one has to know!"

"Dude, knock it off. Robin said _no_."

"But he only said that because of Star — you _know_ he wants to know. Bet you he's pulling his hair out try'na convince her."

"You've seen her, right? Girl's not budging on this."

"Exactly why we should take a look! _C'mon,_ Cy, I know you want to . . ."

"Just because I want to, doesn't mean we can."

"What about —"

" _No_ , Beast Boy. No mask removal, no fingerprint scans, no DNA test — nothing. Nada."

"But —"

"Robin's orders. Take it up with him, if you're that desperate."

"This sucks. We have him _right here_ , and we're not gonna do anything about it? C'mon, Raven, back me up here."

"No."

"Aww, not you too."

"Suck it up."

* * *

His dreams were filled with water. It was all he could see, this bottomless pit with its glowing green waters. Too green, too bright, too unreal.

It haunted him still, the feeling of waking up with these waters everywhere inside him, running in rivulets down his face, arms, and chest, burning away at all the damage. He remembered the cold water seeping into frigid skin and dead bones, the taste of sulfur on his lips and tongue, the sting as it ran into his eyes, the burn as it met old scars and wounds. He remembered screaming, the sound of it bouncing off the stalagmites, echoing back at him, a mockery of his agony and rage.

But on some nights, in between memories of dark wheezing laughter and red beeping numbers, of scraping against wood and crawling through mud and soil, of burning water in his lungs —

Some nights, he dreamed of a boat.

He wasn't sure if it was a memory, if he was remembering — or maybe it was just something his splintered, damaged mind had conjured up in his delirium. Whatever it was, it was there.

The rowboat, under the water. Not damaged. Not sunken, but maybe —

Waiting.

Waiting for what?

Payment _,_ maybe, because on the boat was the ferryman, his eyes as dark as bruises, his features blurred like an unfinished watercolor. His face, pale and indistinct as it was, seemed like it was constantly moving, constantly changing, into something like recognition.

 _Maybe one day he'll blur into fog_ , he thought.

The water was dark and cool. As still as a lake, no waves or ripples even as the pale man swung his oar, even as the boat moved slowly, steadily. Except they weren't on a lake — they were on a river. _Styx._

And the ferryman was watching. Waiting. Demanding payment. _Familiar_ — like walking past a mirror in the dark.

In his dreams, the rowboat was halfway across the river. But heading where, towards what — he didn't know.

* * *

"I don't know if you can hear me, but . . . Star told me what you did and — I don't know _why_ you did it, but I owe you. Again. Or maybe this makes us even now, I don't know. I've lost count of this — this game you're playing. Because it is a game to you, isn't it? Something to keep us guessing? Has to be. . . . Maybe one day, I'll catch you off guard and finally get some answers. But I'll have to catch you first, don't I? Right now . . . right now, all I can do is thank you. I don't think you'll ever tell me why you did it, but thank you."

* * *

He was flat on his back now, that much he was sure of. Black, dreamless sleep lapped around him like seawater ― a steady roar, a splashing tide against the sand, reaching and inching its way closer and closer. His lungs burned with the need to breathe, to talk, to _scream_ ―

A creak of the door, swinging open. The sound of feet padding over the carpet. A dent in his bed as someone sat down. A soft press of a hand on his chest, right over his runaway heart ―

Warm. Safe. Familiar.

― and he couldn't even say why it helped, but the water in his lungs seemed to vanish, the water around him seemed to retreat, until there was nothing more than a mattress and humid air and tangled sheets and a warm hand pulling him out of the water, and suddenly, finally he could _breathe._

* * *

When Jason came to, he knew at once that something was wrong. The soft bed, the bright lights against his eyelids, the soft beeping at his bedside ― this was not his apartment. He was somewhere else, somewhere unfamiliar, and unfamiliar meant danger.

As his eyes flickered open, he forced himself to stay as still and unmoving as possible. He waited, listening for any other person in the room, even as he itched to rid himself of all evidence of drowning dreams and underwater silence.

"There is no need to pretend," a voice said softly. "I know you are awake."

Well. No point in not moving now.

Jason twisted away from the direction of the voice, his hand flying up to his face, but he didn't get very far. His limbs felt heavy and sluggish and moving was more exhausting than he remembered; he was forced to settle back against the pillows. At least the pain was distant ― the effect of waning painkillers, he recognized vaguely.

"You need not worry about your mask. We did not take it off."

He turned his head with effort. It took him a moment to adjust to the bright lights overhead and to place the woman sitting at his bedside.

"Cutie," Jason rasped out, voice breaking. "Why didn't you?" he tried to ask, but it came out more like an accusation.

"It would not be fair," Starfire said with a tight smile. "Your identity is important to you and it would not be right, to take it away when you were in no state to fight back."

Jason tried to gauge her sincerity, but it was hard to think through the mental fog ― damn painkillers ― and harder still to string sentences together. "Don't believe you."

"I did not think you would."

"You gave me drugs."

"I am afraid so. You may not remember, but you were in a great deal of pain."

Jason grimaced. "Say sumthin' stupid?"

"You called me an angel and proceeded to ask me out on the date, so I suppose no more than your usual fare."

He snorted. "Ha. Wha's 'at sarcasm?"

Jason could have sworn her lips quirked up at that. Score.

"Are you all right?" Starfire asked.

"'m fine."

She looked doubtful, frowning at him disapprovingly. Jason had half a mind to ask her why she even bothered asking if she wasn't going to believe him, but it was too much effort to say so much. He just wanted to go back to sleep, especially now that he was somewhat certain his identity was safe. Safe while he was unconscious, at any rate.

"'m fine." he insisted. "D ― died once . . . 's nu'thin' new."

Her expression softened.

Jason frowned. "'m not lying. . . . Saw him already."

"Saw who?"

"Ferryman . . . 's waiting."

Starfire said something in reply, but her words registered as nothing more than a faint ringing in his ears. The darkness was rushing up again, but this time there was no water, no boat, no ferryman, just a faint warmth emanating from his bedside, like early morning sunshine.

* * *

Jason was less groggy and more clear-headed when he next awoke. Like last time, Starfire was there, on the leather recliner by his bed. If not for the tea set she had laid out, he would have thought she hadn't moved since he had seen her last.

"Not that I'm not flattered by the attention," he said, "but what are you doing here, cutie? Don't tell me you got the short straw again."

"The short straw?"

"You know, unlucky. No choice but to watch the invalid."

Her brows pulled together as she frowned. "Is it so surprising that I am here of my own volition?"

He shrugged. "Can't see why you would be."

"Gratitude, for one."

"Oh, there's another reason? Is it my dashing good looks?"

Starfire suppressed a smile. "You are much more bearable when you are unconscious," she said with mock seriousness.

"No one's forcing you to stay."

"Do you wish for me to leave?"

Jason thought of cold icy waters, of the leeching corpses underneath, and thought of the warmth of her hand in his, the light of her hair chasing away the dark waters ― and, _stupidly_ , the thought of slipping back into unconsciousness without Starfire there made his stomach roll.

Still, he said, "Do what you want, sweetheart."

"Very well."

Starfire didn't leave. She stayed on her seat, sipping the mug of tea she had poured for herself while he had been asleep. She had asked him if he wanted a cup when he had snapped awake, and she had given him a pile of books to read when he had declined the offer.

Books from Robin, according to her. Jason wasn't sure what he felt about that, but he accepted them anyway. He tried to read, but he couldn't see the words on the page. All he could think about was the Titan sitting next to him, seemingly casual and relaxed. He could feel his panic slowly growing, the waters rushing in as the silence between them stretched on.

He tried to steady his breathing, to hide his anxiety, but his heart rate sped up, the monitor next to his bed beeping in reaction, giving him away.

Starfire frowned. "Is something the matter?"

 _Stay calm_ , Jason told himself. Conceal. Obfuscate. Deflect.

"What does Chuckles think, about you being here?" he said, willing his tone to stay even and cool.

"Robin does not mind it. Someone has to watch over you while you recuperate."

"What, and you just volunteered for the job?"

"I did. Did we not just discuss this?"

"You never said why."

She huffed. "To express my gratitude, as I have already said."

"For what?"

She stared at him, eyes narrowed. "Do you not remember why you are here?"

Rolling his eyes, Jason waved his bandaged arm. "Hard to forget."

"What was the last thing you remember?"

He grimaced. Not that she could see it with the mask in the way. "Does it matter?"

"Given your injuries and your current line of questioning, it would seem so."

"What does that have to do with anything?"

"Surely you do not think we would have left you to fend for yourself, after all the injuries you sustained."

"Oh, that part I get." As if the Kiddy League would ever ― or _could_ ever ― do anything but help. "What I don't get is why _you_ , princess, are here playing nurse."

"Is it not obvious? You saved Robin's life."

Jason froze. It was not the answer he was expecting. "What are you talking about?"

"You saved his life, at the expense of your own. Do you not remember?"

He scoffed, if only to hide his mounting discomfort. "Don't make me out to be a hero, cutie. I didn't save your boyfriend ― I had my own business to take care of and he just happened to be in the way."

Starfire gave him an unimpressed look. "I would believe that, if I had not seen you run towards him to take the blast. Robin may not have seen it, but I did, and you would not have fallen into the lake and sustained your injuries if you had not done what you did." Her expression softened. "You almost drowned, X."

Something constricted in his throat. _It's just a word_ , he told himself. _And drowning is just water._

"Your mind must be playing tricks on you, sweetheart," Jason said, as impassively as he could. "I didn't do it for him."

She tilted her head, and something seemed to flash in her eyes. "Then for whom?"

"Me. Looking out for number one, like always."

Her eyes narrowed, scrutinizing. No ― _considering,_ he realized.

"What's with the look?" It came out a little more forceful, a little more defensive, than Jason had intended. "Have I disappointed your self-righteous sensibilities?"

If it had been Robin ― hell, if it had been Cyborg or Beast Boy ― he may have taken the bait. Stormed out of the room, maybe, or tried to argue about ethics and morality and shit.

But Starfire just stared, still with that same considering look, too knowing than Jason was comfortable with. "Why do you pretend?" she said.

"What?"

"Why do you pretend that you do not care?"

He stiffened. "I don't."

"It is clear to me that you do," Starfire said, sounding sure and kind and damning all at once. "But you wish to hide it and pretend otherwise."

"Never pegged you for the type to psychoanalyze," he said sharply. "You don't know me, so you can cut it with this ― this armchair psychology crap."

"You are right. I do not know you."

"You don't act like it."

She opened her mouth to respond, then hesitated. Jason thought that was the end of it, as her eyes seemed to stare at something over his shoulder, something faraway.

"The last time I saw my sister," Starfire said, after a while, "she had arranged a marriage for me in a ploy to take over our planet. Before that, she attempted to have me arrested in her place. Needless to say, we do not get along."

He snorted. "I'll say. Not winning any sister of the year awards, is she?"

She smiled at that, though she didn't quite meet his eyes. "No," she said quietly. "She has tried to kill me before, and she has attempted much worse multiple times in the past. But despite what she has done, I like to think that, if only she had asked me . . . perhaps I could have helped her. Saved her. I do not know if I will ever forgive her, but I still care for her, in spite of our history."

Jason felt something cold settle in his stomach ― something like dread, something like recognition. "Why?" he heard himself ask, before he could stop himself.

"She is still my sister. She may not be a good person, but she has defined me, for better or for worse, and I cannot imagine she will ever stop being a part of me."

A huge, heavy thing trailed in the wake of these words. Jason caught only the edge of it, but it was still too close to home, too familiar. It was more than recognition ― _understanding_.

"So what?" he snapped. "I don't see what your family drama has anything to do with me."

"I think you do." She raised her eyes, catching his with her too knowing stare. "You care. Perhaps more than you wish to admit."

"Just because I saved him doesn't mean I give a damn about your precious Robin."

"It does not have to be Robin specifically, but ―" she paused, searching for the words. "There is good in you, I am certain of it. You are a thief, but not a murderer. You steal and taunt us, but you assist us when lives are at stake ― even when it puts your own at risk. Even when you deny it."

_Too close. Too familiar._

"So I've got a conscience," Jason said harshly, "but don't raise me any higher than that. I do it for the thrill, cutie. Not the good."

"Why not?"

Because it was a thankless job. Because even now he dreamed of madmen with crowbars and buried coffins and green waters. Because the boat under the water and the ferryman haunted him still, demanding payment for his passage.

"Good is boring," he said. "Predictable. Someone's gotta keep you Brady Bunch on your toes."

"So you say."

Jason shook his head. "You really believe that, all that stuff you're saying," he said, disbelief coloring his tone.

"You saved Robin's life," Starfire insisted. " _Our_ lives. More than once."

As if that was enough. As if a good deed or two could lead him to the pathway of saving his soul. Really, he was almost touched.

But his soul was already damned _._ Marked by the ferryman, long ago, on the river Styx. A boat was waiting.

"Doesn't mean what you think it means, princess."

"Perhaps not," she conceded. "Do you fault me for my optimism?"

No. Surprisingly enough.

Maybe because it had been so long since someone had looked at him as she did, but it felt . . . _nice,_ to have someone believe in him like that. The last time someone did, it hadn't mattered in the end ― it had only led to broken promises and regrets in a coffin, a suit in a glass case, a cautionary tale.

But Starfire, with her guileless eyes and warm smile, promised nothing. She wasn't forcing anything on him or trying to get him to agree. She was simply telling him, laying out everything that she believed, placing her conviction in him without asking for proof. And maybe he didn't deserve it ― god, he definitely didn't deserve it ― but it made him feel lighter, warmer, to know that someone believed in him.

Not that he was going to tell her any of that.

"Sounds like you're pitching something there," Jason said.

"And what am I . . . pitching?"

"Exclusive membership to your superhero jamboree," he drawled, jazz hands and all.

It seemed to amuse her, green eyes shining as she shook her head. "I am not asking you to join the Titans. It will be ― I believe the Earth saying is, a waste of my breath?"

"What, you're not even gonna try? Well, now I'm just offended."

Starfire laughed. "You and I both know you will never say yes."

"Everyone seems to be joining you, these days." He shrugged. "Kinda feeling left out."

Her expression turned pensive then. "You once told Robin that you know how to play the hero."

"So?"

"I think that it is more than that. I think you can be, more than just knowing and playing at the role." He didn't know what to say to that, and he willed himself to not look away as she went on, "If you were ever to change your ways, it will not be because of our invitation. It will be because you have taken your own path."

"Funny," Jason said sardonically. "Thought I already had."

"Perhaps I should make my meaning plainer?"

"Oh, no need for that. I get what you're saying loud and clear. But you're gonna be waiting forever, cutie. You're wrong about me."

"Perhaps I am. I confess that I do not understand you, X. The best I can do is make conjectures."

"You seem awfully sure, for someone making conjectures."

Starfire smiled. "Someone has to keep you on your toes," she said, her tone teasing.

Jason couldn't help but laugh at that. He didn't know what to make of her, this girl who seemed to know too much and feel too deeply. He understood now, why Robin needed her so much. Why her whole team did ― why they listened and looked to her, even when they disagreed, even when they didn't understand.

Starfire paused, hesitating. "There is another reason," she said. "For my being here."

Before he could ask what she meant, Starfire stood and lifted his mask so that it rested across the bridge of his nose. He was so surprised that he didn't even think to push her off as she pressed her lips against his, light and warm and chaste. She pulled away before he could kiss her back, before the softness of her lips against his own could properly register.

"That is for assisting Robin," she said, pulling down his mask. "Your actions saved his life and . . . they saved the city, as well, even if you do not wish to admit it."

Jason didn't know what to feel about all this, and he told her as much. "You _kissed_ me to thank me for saving your boyfriend?"

"Do not think too much about it. Kissing does not mean the same on my planet."

"So what did that mean then?"

Starfire looked away. "As I said, I was attempting to thank you."

But she didn't have to. _You saved my life too,_ he wanted to say. _You pulled me out of the water. You stopped me from drowning. You stayed._

And more than that, more than saving him from the lake and the underwater corpses that nearly pulled him under, she had saved him from his dreams. He had been drowning, in those memories, those green waters and the rowboat, the ferryman waiting for him, demanding payment. She had saved him, made herself his anchor with nothing more than the warm hand on his chest and the soothing voice in his ear, whispering something like a lullaby, and there was nothing Jason could do to repay that debt.

"Sure. Whatever," was what he said instead, to conceal. Obfuscate. Deflect. "If that's what I get when I do something nice, I might have to make a habit of it. What's the price for saving a cat out of a tree?"

Starfire rolled her eyes, but she was smiling. "The satisfaction of doing a good deed."

"Boring," he said. "Not for me, then."

"Perhaps not."

She left after that, to get more cookies and reheat her tea. She asked him if he wanted anything ― a glass of water, more food, another book ― and while he declined, he appreciated the gesture all the same.

Appreciated it enough that he felt a pang of guilt as he watched her go, as he waited for her footfalls to fade away before he pushed himself off the bed, slipping away as fast and as quietly as he could with his stiff muscles and still sore wounds.

Jason felt bad, a little bit, for leaving without so much as a goodbye. Starfire deserved one at the very least, but that didn't mean he could trust her ― or the other Titans, for that matter. Gratitude could only go so far, and whatever debt he owed her, whatever debt that Chuckles and the rest felt that they owed him, well ―

Maybe he should reconsider, give her words a second thought. _You know how to play the hero_ . . . _I think you can be, more than just knowing and playing at the role._

Jason scoffed to himself and disappeared into the night.

* * *

Jason didn't see the Titans again until months later ― almost a year, in fact. Plenty of time to recover, to get back into shape.

Still, he couldn't help but be frustrated with himself when their paths did cross. Somehow, he kept getting himself tangled in their messes, and as much as he wanted to stay away, it was even harder to put the thought into action.

"You know," he goaded, mocking tone and all, "I'm starting to wonder why Daddy Bats ever let you out of the cave."

From where he stood, Jason could see a vein throbbing at Robin's temple. The kid just made it too easy, sometimes.

"No one asked you," Robin gritted out. He probably would have said a lot more, if not for the look Starfire gave him. Jason didn't know if it was meant to comfort or to warn ― either way, he and Robin were too busy dodging blows to respond immediately.

Punch. Kick. Duck. Leg sweep.

They both moved at the same time, perfectly in sync as they fought side by side, without hesitation. For a moment, Jason was too caught up in the grace of their movements, the same synchronized adeptness that came as easy as breathing.

_Familiar._

Sometimes, very rarely, Jason could admit that he missed it.

"Well, it kinda looks like you need a babysitter, kid," Jason quipped, when he and Robin were standing back to back.

"Are you volunteering?" Robin retorted.

"Not on your life."

When it was over, when they had taken down the Titans' monster of the week, Jason quietly slid to the sidelines, trying to quickly come up with a way to slink off unnoticed. Apparently, he wasn't fast enough. Raven caught his movement and elbowed Robin in the side, nodding towards Jason's direction.

Damn. So much for a quick getaway.

Robin made his way to Jason, all serious and stern. Jason took care to relax his posture, making himself as relaxed as possible, just to spite the kid. At least, from the expression on Robin's face, Jason knew that the Titans weren't gearing up for another round of cat and mouse. Not yet, anyway.

"Thank you, X," Robin said. The words sounded sincere, even if he looked like the words were being forced out of him, his stance rigid like someone was pulling out his teeth. "We couldn't have done it without you."

Jason shrugged. "Yeah, I saw that. Next time I save your asses, I expect a medal."

"Don't push it," Robin grumbled.

"Just saying." Jason raised hands in mock surrender, eyes carefully mapping the exits as he waited for Robin to compose himself.

"I just wanted to say ―" Robin started reluctantly, hesitating, trying to find the words. "You left last time, before I could get the chance to thank you."

 _You already did_ , Jason almost said.

Without meaning to, he caught Starfire's eye, and their last encounter glided to the forefront of his mind. She was standing a good deal away from them, with the rest of the Titans, probably to give him and Robin some semblance of privacy. As close to private as they could get, at any rate ― Jason wasn't naïve enough to think that they wouldn't pounce if he so much as made the wrong move.

"I didn't do it for you," Jason said.

Robin's mask moved, in a way that Jason knew his eyebrow had quirked upward, curious and inquiring. "Why did you do it then?"

Jason remembered Starfire's words, too close, too familiar. He thought of half-forgotten memories, snapshot of days long past flickering in his mind ― green and yellow and red, jumping across rooftops, jealousy and laughter, thinking _not good enough, never good enough,_ but also thinking _I'll be as good as you someday_ , wishing for acceptance, for belonging, for home.

For a moment, it was enough to keep the waters at bay, enough to help him forget the liquid fire in his lungs and the river Styx waiting to claim him.

Jason brushed the thought away, and the images dissolved like foam on the water, like they had never been real.

But they had been, once. A lifetime ago.

"You really want to know, kid?" Jason said. "I'll tell you."

He smirked, knowing that Robin could sense it despite the mask.

"But you're gonna have to catch me first."

At that, faster than the Titans could react, Jason jumped off the side of the building, giving his trademark two-finger salute as he clicked on his suit's teleportation switch. His figure blurred and faded, disappearing, until he was back on the ground, hidden by the dimly lit streets, skillfully navigating the alleys of Jump City.


End file.
